Choosing Cides
by shady stays gold
Summary: Dallas Winston has killed and destroyed so many things he can barely count them. (Title is NOT spelled wrong)


**Be sure to review, and if you liked this, check out my other Outsiders fics (A Heart Of Gold) and (Hand-In-Hand in Hell). This will be a multichapter. **

**No, the title was not supposed to be "Choosing Sides". It is spelled correctly. "Cide" means destroy or kill. Every chapter will feature Dally committing a 'cide'. **

**Yes, Dally has a weird accent. I don't know how a New York accent sounds, so I'm just making it up as I go.**

**A bit of sexual content in this, but it's not too explicit.**

**Menticide: the systematic effort to undermine and destroy a person's beliefs. **

* * *

It wasn't a blisteringly hot day or a chillingly cold day. Like most days in Tulsa, Oklahoma, it was just a day. But that day would make all the difference.

A cloud of dust momentarily hid whoever was stomping down the street's face. The person had scuffed his or her feet in the dirt on the side of the road as they walked, sending up a plume of dust. The person cursed loudly and coughed. When the dust cleared, the person was revealed.

It was a tall, lean boy in his late teens. He was muscular for his weight, and he had an untameable mop of straight white-blond hair. He had clear, icy blue eyes and a glare on his face. There was a shout from behind him, and he spun around. Standing on the sidewalk was a drunken mess of a man that looked like an ugly, fat, older version of the boy. He started to totter down the sidewalk toward the teenager.

"Get the fuck away from me!" hollered the boy. He scooped a rock off the ground and threw it at his father's face. There was a sickening crunching sound, and his nose broke. Blood streamed down his face from a newly made cut on his forehead. "That's what ya get!" Dallas Winston ran down the street, away from his father.

"Christ," he spat, opening the door to a house he was pretty sure belonged to the Curtis brothers. Fortunately, he hadn't just barged into a random house. He wiped the sweat off his face and collapsed on the couch. There was a loud "Hey!" from underneath him. Dally rolled off the couch, groaning.

"You think you can just go in here and sit on me?" asked Two-Bit groggily, sitting up. "Shit, it's the afternoon already? Must've been sleeping long."

"Yeah, ya get ya beauty sleep, Two-Bit," Dally said, tearing off his shirt. "Ya gonna need it once I'm done punchin' ya." He lay down right on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Ooh, what a threat," Two-Bit said, rolling his eyes. But he could tell Dallas was in a dangerous, angry mood, and didn't want to upset him any more than he was. "Hey, Dal?"

"What?" Dallas snapped, opening his eyes again, still sprawled out on the carpeted floor.

"I heard some shouting down the street. That have anything to do with you?" Two-Bit asked. In a feeble attempt to brighten the mood, he said, "If you tell me, I might just forgive you for sitting on me."

Dally sighed. "Yeah, that was me. I come home and whadda I see? My ol' man, fuckin' a girl less than half his age. I walked in on 'em and as soon as he got his pants on, he was throwing punches at me." The blond hood's fists were clenched. "He was real drunk, too. He followed me out ta the street when I ran off, so I threw a rock at him." He grabbed a blanket off the couch. He closed his eyes again.

"If you ever want to talk-" Two-Bot started.

"No!" Dallas practically shouted, his eyes snapping open. He exhaled. "I mean, nah. I ain't need ta talk about nothin'. Now let me fuckin' sleep for the first time this week." Dally closed his eyes again and slowly fell asleep.

* * *

Hours later, Dally woke up. Two-Bit had left, he noticed. He stretched his arms and legs, and immediately realized that he had a hard-on. Shit. He knew that dream he had would give him one. Reaching under the blanket, Dally unbuckled his pants and slipped them off. He stuck his hand into his boxers, kicking off the blanket.

"How're you doing, D-" started the cheerful voice of Sodapop Curtis. "Oh." He saw Dally lying on the floor with a hand in his boxers. The towheaded greaser quickly let go of his erection. His face turned bright red, and it was the first time Soda ever saw Dally blush.

"Shit, I'm real sorry, Soda," stammered Dally. He got to his feet, still pretty much naked. "I'll just go... wash my hands..." Dally stumbled into the kitchen and ran his hands under the faucet. He lathered them in soap, just for good measure. He rinsed off the soap and splashed cold water on his flaming face. He still had a terrible hard-on as he walked back to the living room.

"I ain't ever gonna do that again, Soda," promised Dally. "Nearly jack off in ya house, I mean." Soda nodded. He was a bit confused. One thing the gang never brought up was Dally's sexual relationships- or when he was unattached, sexual tension. Soda had a really hard time picturing Dallas Winston, hard-ass, mean greaser guy, in any kind of relationship.

"Go upstairs to the bathroom, I guess," Sodapop told him. "Just... not on the living room floor where anyone can see you, all right? I could've been a social worker." Dally paused in his walk upstairs, thinking. A wicked grin spread across his face.

"Well, they woulda gotten one helluva show," Dally said. Sodapop couldn't help but laughing at that. He bent down to get Dally's clothes off the floor and give them to him. His shirt rode up in the back, giving Dally a good view of his lightly tanned waistline. Suddenly, before Soda could pick up the clothes, something slammed into him, tackling him onto the floor. Judging by the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat, it was Dally. Soda let out a weak laugh.

"Okay, you got me there, Dal," he said. "Now let me up." But even though he waited, he wasn't let up. For a fleeting second, it felt like he was being let up- but Dallas's knee was still pressed against his back. In a bit, his other knee replaced it. "Dallas, this isn't funny!" Soda said. Why wasn't his friend letting him get off the ground? Sure, the gang tackled each other playfully all the time. But they always let each other get up.

And then Dally did let him get up. But it was for him to stride to the front door and lock it. With a jolt, Soda realized Dally had stripped completely. Trying to maintain his dignity, Soda looked away from Dally's dick. But Dally grabbed Soda by his hair and slammed him to his knees. Sodapop tried to get up and run, but Dally said quietly, "If ya do what I say, ya limbs stay where they oughta." Soda froze, still kneeling in front of Dally. His eyes widened as he realized just exactly what was happening.

"No! I'm not going to do that!" Soda yelped. "Do I look like a fag to you?" There was a sharp blow to his head, and Soda let out a strangled cry.

_"Do it," _hissed Dallas. Soda squinted his eyes shut and moved closer...

When that was done, there were tears of frustration in Soda's eyes. He scrambled in a kind of crab-walk backwards, only to be held face-first against the floor by Dally. Soda writhed and shouted "DARRY! DARRY!" at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking from overuse and becoming hoarse. His pants were torn off him, and Soda felt vulnerable. He knew what was about to happen. He'd never felt it, but he knew.

"Ya want it," Dally spat at Soda as he pushed himself into the younger boy. "Tell me ya want it." Soda clawed at the carpet, howling in pain.

_"Stop, Dally! Stop!"_ he wailed. Dally did nothing but make it worse, and Soda started crying even harder. "Okay, fine!" he said. "I want it!"

"Can't hear ya!" Dally said, panting.

_"I want it!"_ Soda screamed. I don't, I don't, I don't! he thought.

"That's _better_," said Dally.

All Soda could hear as Dallas Winston fucked him was him saying, "Ya know when ya found me lyin' on the floor? Well, I was dreamin' about _you,_ Soda."

Even before Darry came home and Dally pulled up his pants, Soda knew that everything he thought was wrong. Dally was not his friend. Soda didn't care about him. Not everyone in his gang_ really_ cared about Soda. The Socs weren't the only enemy.

Soda's world shattered and, to his disappointment, he was left alive.


End file.
